Apr 14, 2016 | Torat Devorah
This shall be the law of the metzora… he shall be brought to the Kohen (14:2)
The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains: Both the onset and the termination of the state of tzaraat are effected only by the proclamation of a Kohen. If suspect markings appear on a person, they are examined by an expert on the complex laws of tzaraat–usually, but not necessarily, a Kohen; but even after a diagnosis of tzaraat had been made, the state of ritual impurity does not take effect, and the metzora’s banishment is not carried out, until a Kohen pronounces him “impure.” This is why even after all physical signs of tzaraathave departed, the removal of the state of impurity and the metzora’s re-admission into the community is achieved only by the Kohen’s declaration. The Kohen’s function as a condemner and ostracizer runs contrary to his most basic nature and role. The Kohen is commanded by G‑d to “bless His people Israel with love”; our sages describe a “disciple of Aaron” as one who “loves peace, pursues peace, loves G‑ds creatures and brings them close to Torah.” But this is precisely the reason that the Torah entrusts to the Kohen the task of condemning the metzora. There is nothing more hateful to G‑d than division between His children. The metzora must be ostracized because, through his slander and tale-bearing, he is himself a source of divisiveness; nevertheless, the Torah is loath to separate him from the community. So it is not enough that the technical experts say that he marked by tzaraat. It is only when the Kohen–whose very being shudders at the thought of banishing a member of the community–is convinced that there is no escaping a verdict of tzaraat, that the metzora is separated from his people. And it is only when the one doing the banishing is suffused with loving concern for the banished person, that the penalty will yield a positive result–the repentance and rehabilitation of the metzora. There is another lesson here as well: it is not the fact of the tzaraat that renders the metzora impure, but the Kohen’s declaration of his impurity. In other words, no matter how terrible a persons state may be, to speak ill of him is more terrible still. The Kohen’s saying that he is impure affects his spiritual state far more profoundly than the actual fact of his tzaraat.
The Midrash (Vayikra Rabba 16:2) informs us that the word metzora is derived from motzi shaim ra (the Hebrew words for a slanderer), since the disease of tzora’as is a punishment for speaking against others. Because of the relationship between tzora’as and loshon hora, the Midrash on our verse relates the following incident: A peddler traveled from village to village in the area of Tzipori (in the Land of Israel) calling out, “Who wants to buy an elixir of life?” Rabbi Yanai heard the peddler and told him that he was interested in purchasing his wares. The peddler, however, told him, “You and people like you do not need what I am selling.” Rabbi Yanai, however, insisted that the peddler sell him the special elixir. Taking out a book of Tehillim (Psalms), the peddler showed Rabbi Yanai the verse: “Who is the person who desires life and loves days that he may see the good? Guard your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking deceit.” (Psalms 34) Rabbi Yanai exclaimed, “My entire life I have been reading this verse and never knew its full meaning until this peddler came and told me, ‘Who is the man who desire life…’ ” A question on this Midrash arises: What novel idea did Rabbi Yanai learn from the peddler? The peddler merely recited a familiar verse from Psalms without adding any new interpretations. The Ksav Sofer explained thus: Rabbi Yanai noted the peddler’s method of announcing he was selling something that would give a person long life. This aroused the interest and curiosity of people, and quickly a large crowd would gather around him. Only then did the peddler cite the verse, “Guard your tongue from evil.” From the peddler’s method, Rabbi Yanai concluded that King David, the author of Psalms, must have also gone from person to person posing the question, “Do you want long life?” Anyone asked this question would invariably reply. “Yes.” Then King David would say, “Guard your tongue.” Rabbi Yanai learned that it is not sufficient for a person to be careful with his own speech. He must also impress upon others the importance of refraining from loshon hora.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Apr 7, 2016 | Torat Devorah
The focus of this portion is upon tzora’as, a supernatural physical affliction sent to warn someone to refrain from speaking badly about others. The disease progressively afflicted home, clothes and then one’s skin — unless the individual corrected his ways and followed the purification process stated in the Torah.
“And it will be in the skin of his flesh the plague of tzora’as” (Lev. 12:2). In this verse the term vehaya (“And it will”) is used which denotes joy. Tzora’as is a very painful affliction, what possible joy can there be in having it? Rabbi Zelig Pliskin explains that pain can be viewed as meaningful or random. If pain has meaning — like the pain that accompanies giving birth — the pain is more bearable. If one appreciates that pain can be a wake up call to examine one’s life, an atonement for something one has done wrong or a challenge and opportunity to grow, then one can appreciate the pain and value its benefit. A person may wish he did not have the pain. He may hate the pain. However, with focus one can have an element of joy in appreciating its meaningfulness.
The sages taught that tzara’at was not a bodily disease, but a physical manifestation of a spiritual disease. They believed that it was a punishment for saying bad or untrue things about others. They said that the Hebrew word Metzora is a contraction of the words motzi rah which means “one who spreads slander.” The “treatment” or punishment for the metzorah (the one afflicted with tzara’at ) was being outcast for a period of time. During this time of isolation, the metzorah could reflect on the damage done by his or her words. Once the condition had been cured, the metzorah then offered a sacrifice including two birds: one to slaughter and one to set free. Rashi says that God wanted the metzorah to sacrifice birds in order to remind the person about the sin of chattering like a bird. The Midrash Shocher Tov says “The damage done by evil talk is compared to the piercing, irreparable destruction of an arrow. Why is the tongue compared to an arrow? An arrow cannot be called back once it has been shot, even if the marksman wishes to do so. Just as the victim does not know about it until it actually reaches him, so the effects of evil talk are not felt until the arrows of a wicked person pierce him.”
A story is told of the Chofetz Chaim who readily agreed when another prominent rabbi requested his help with a communal matter in another city in Poland. In the course of their trip the two rabbis stopped at a roadside inn to partake of a meal. They were happy to eat at this establishment as a Jewish woman who was well respected for her high standards of kashrut ran it. The two rabbis were seated at a special table and accorded every mark of honor. After they had finished the meal the proprietress came to their table to inquire how they had enjoyed the food. The Chofetz Chaim smiled politely and replied: “It was very tasty, and I enjoyed it very much. Thank you.” The other rabbi answered: “The meal was very good, thank you. Only, if I might say, the soup might have used a bit more salt.” When the owner left the table the Chofetz Chaim turned to his companion, and in an anguished voice said: “Unbelievable! All my life I have avoided speaking or listening to
lashon hara and here I am, going on a trip to perform a mitzva, and I have been put into a situation of having to hear you speak lashon hara! I deeply regret my involvement in this mission, for it cannot be a true mitzva. If it were, such a terrible thing would never have happened to me!” The other rabbi was shocked and upset by the Chofetz Chaim’s reaction. To him it seemed to be a perfectly innocent remark. “What was so terrible about my comment? I only mentioned that a little salt would help the food, which was otherwise very good.” The Chofetz Chaim began to explain himself. “You certainly don’t understand the power that words possess! Just see what a chain reaction your words have set off: I’m sure that the woman who owns the inn doesn’t do her own cooking; she probably employs some poor person to do it, maybe even a widow who depends upon this job for her living.
“Because of your thoughtless comment the employee will be reprimanded for not adding enough salt to the food. She will try to defend herself before replying that she certainly did put in enough salt, which will be a lie. Then the owner will accuse her of lying, since she will certainly take your word over that of the poor cook. This exchange will lead to an argument and the owner will, in her anger, fire the poor cook, who will then have no income with which to support herself and her family. The rabbi, who had listened closely to the Chofetz Chaim’s explanation, replied respectfully: “Reb Yisrael Meir, I simply can’t help but feel that you are overreacting to the whole incident. My few casual words couldn’t have created all that damage. I think that your scenario just isn’t realistic.” The Chofetz Chaim rose from his seat, still in an agitated state, and said: “If you don’t believe me, then follow me into the kitchen and you will see with your own eyes what has happened!” The two rabbis quietly entered the kitchen, and a sorry sight met their eyes. The proprietress was standing before an elderly woman and giving her a sharp tongue-lashing; while the woman stood there with tears streaming down her face. The shocked rabbi ran up to the cook and begged her to forgive him for all the pain she was suffering. He then turned to the owner of the inn and pleaded with her to forgive him and to forget that he had ever made a comment. He had never intended that it be taken so seriously. The proprietress of the inn, who was really a kind person by nature, had never actually intended to dismiss her elderly employee and was happy to accede to the rabbi’s request. She explained that she had merely wanted to impress upon the cook her responsibility to be more careful in the future. She assured the rabbi that the woman’s job was secured and he had no grounds for worry. The rabbi turned to the Chofetz Chaim with an understanding look. He had certainly acquired a new profound respect for the awesome power of words.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Mar 17, 2016 | Torat Devorah
This week we begin the book of Vayikra, or Leviticus, which is largely concerned with the laws of the priests and the priestly offerings. Sometimes the piles of rules seems rather arbitrary and technical, but the ancient (and not-so-ancient) rabbis tried to discern moral and spiritual principles behind even the smallest details.
“And if his means do not suffice for two turtledoves or two pigeons, he shall bring as his offering for that of which he is guilty a tenth of an ephah of choice flour for a sin offering; he shall not add oil to it or lay frankincense on it, for it is a sin offering.. . . .” (Vayikra/ Leviticus 5:11)
Sefer Ha-Hinnuch posits two reasons for the ban on oil in the flour-offering of the penitent as described above. First, it points out that oil is a symbol of luxury and wealth in ancient times- that’s why anointing with oil was a symbol of priesthood and kingship. Yet this atonement offering should be one that evokes humility, contrition and introspection, and thus in this case, adding oil to it would be mixing messages, as it were.Secondly, the Sefer Ha-Hinnuch assumes that the verse above applies to a poor person, as it occurs in a section which explicitly states that the mitzvah is to bring a large animal- unless one didn’t have enough money for a large animal, then bring a small one, and if that’s still too great a burden, then just bring some flour. So, if the verse already assumes that the only person who would bring the flour offering is a poor person, it makes sense to forbid the use of oil or spices, lest the penitent feel pressured to spend beyond their means in adding to a small offering. Rabbi Neal Joseph Loevinger explains: “I learn two larger points from this commentary on the flour-offering. First, how we perform a spiritual practice affects the result of that practice. The offering was meant to be one of repentance, so it should be offered in a humble and plain way. Similarly, if we want to have spiritual experiences which transform us in joy, or humility, or gratitude, or reverence, or any other aspect of religious growth, we have to enter our prayers, practices, rituals and celebrations with the right framework to get us there. For example, if you want to have a joyful Shabbat- make your dress, table, house, songs and prayers celebratory and inspiring. If you want to be inclined towards great reverence and introspection on Yom Kippur, prepare yourself accordingly, inside and out. To put it another way- we need kavannah [intentionality or mindfulness] to do mitzvot, but it’s also true that doing the mitzvot brings us to kavannah. Finally, note that the ritual we’re discussing involves bringing a handful of flour, which our commentary assumes that even the poorest penitent could afford. In other words, the most ancient form of Judaism had at its very heart- the Temple offerings- an ethic of radical inclusion, at least in terms of socioeconomic status. The Temple- the place of the Divine Presence- was a place for rich and poor equally. The rich person’s big offering didn’t earn them any more atonement that the poor man’s flour offering; it only mattered that each brought something real and significant in their own sight.”
“If a person sins, and commit a betrayal against G‑d, and lieS to his fellow (5:21)” The Lubavitcher Rebbe asks: “How is the offender also defrauding G‑d? On the most basic level, he is defying the Supernal Author of the command, “You shall not steal.” Another explanation is that although it may be that not a single earthly soul knows what really happened between the litigants, G‑d is the omnipresent witness to their dealings; so in addition to lying to his fellow, he is lying in face of the all-knowing “Third Party to their dealings.” A deeper understanding of the defrauder’s crime against G‑d can be derived from another saying by Rabbi Akiva, in which he speaks of how G‑d “acquired and bequeathed His world” to man (Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 31a). Chassidic teaching explains this to mean that the concept of human “property rights” over the resources of G‑d’s the world is divinely ordained, and is integral to the divine purpose in creation: in order for man to be able to develop his environment into a “home for G‑d,” thereby making the world a true divine “acquisition,” each individual’s proprietorship over the portion of creation he is charged to develop must be defined and safeguarded. Hence G‑d’s “bequest of His world” to man is at the very heart of His own ownership–this is the manner in which the Creator Himself desired that His “acquisition” of creation be realized. Thus the Torah says: “If a person… commits a betrayal against G‑d, and lies to his fellow.” You have not only lied to your fellow–you have betrayed the “Third Partner”, depriving Him of His ownership of His world as He Himself defines it.”
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Mar 10, 2016 | Torat Devorah
The building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle) was a process through which mankind used various earthly elements to create an edifice in which G-d’s Divine presence would dwell. Our Sages expound upon the lessons derived from the myriad steps and details incorporated in this process. They serve as direction for the fulfillment of our ultimate mission in this world as Jews: How we create a greater awareness of G-d in the world, and how we come closer to Him.
Different components of the Mishkan were built from different types of donated materials. While most of the construction material was from voluntary donations dependant upon the will and means of the donor, there was an additional mandatory donation incumbent upon all males of 20 years and older at the time of the census. This donation demanded an identical sum from each Jew, regardless of means. “The silver of the census was one hundred talents (of 3,000 shekels each) and 1,775 shekels in the sacred shekel; a beka for every head, a half shekel in the sacred shekel for everyone who passed through the census takers…The hundred talents of silver were to cast the sockets of the Sanctuary and the sockets of the Partition; a hundred sockets for a hundred talents, a talent per socket.” (Shemos/Exodus 38:25-27) The silver was used to make the sockets that held together the beams of the Mishkan’s walls. These sockets essentially served the foundation of the entire Mishkan. Rabbi Moshe Feinstein explains that the foundation upon which our personal, internal Mishkan is built is our Emunah (faith in G-d). The use of this silver in the casting of the sockets for the foundation of the Mishkan – silver that was donated in like amounts from throughout the Jewish people – teaches that our Emunah must be employed equally in all precincts of our life experience. Emunah is not only an expression of dedication to the Divine in the synagogue or study hall, it is a statement of G-d consciousness in all activities: how we conduct our business, how we interact with our family members, how we choose to recreate. Rabbi Shlomo Jarcaig adds to this idea: ” Furthermore, each socket was the product of 6,000 donations. No part of the foundation could be the gift of one man alone; each Jew contributed an equal portion. We learn that, as Jews, we need to value the input and contributions of others. To truly accomplish and build stable structures, we need to work as a cohesive unit. If the foundation is strong in some areas but weak in others, the Mishkan will not stand. Only by helping another reach his potential can we develop the necessary foundation upon which the Mishkan can stand.”
Our Sages mandated that we make at least one hundred blessings every day. Making blessings helps to remind us constantly of all the blessings that surround us: The ability to see, to think, to enjoy the smell of fruit and flowers, the sight of the sea or great mountains, new season fruit, or seeing an old friend for the first time in years. When we surround ourselves with blessings, we surround ourselves with blessing. The Hebrew word beracha (blessing) is linked to the word beraicha, which means a pool of water. G-d is like an Infinite Pool of blessing, flowing goodness and enrichment into our life. Amongst other things a beracha must include is the Hebrew word which means “Lord”, which comes from the root Adon. In the Chidushei HaRim it explains:
“In the construction of the Mishkan, there were exactly one hundred “sockets.” These sockets were called adonim.What is the connection between the hundred adonim and the hundred times that we call G-dby the name Adon in our daily blessings? Just as the adonim were the foundation of the Mishkan through which G-d bestowed his Holy Presence on the Jewish People, so are our daily blessings the foundation of holiness in our lives.”
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Feb 25, 2016 | Torat Devorah
The Israelites, a mere 40 days after the greatest revelation in history, have made a golden calf. G-d threatens to destroy the Israelites. Moses confronts both in turn. To G-d, he prays for mercy. Coming down the mountain and facing Israel, he smashes the tablets, symbol of the covenant. He grinds the calf to dust, mixes it with water, and makes the Israelites drink it. He commands the Levites to punish the wrongdoers. Then he re-ascends the mountain in a further prolonged attempt to re-establish the shattered relationship between G-d and the people.
Moses makes a strange appeal: ‘And Moses hurried and knelt to the ground and bowed, and he said, “If I have found favour in your eyes, my Lord, may my Lord go among us, because [ki] it is a stiff-necked people, and forgive our wickedness and our sin, and take us as your inheritance.”
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks asks: ‘How can Moses invoke the people’s obstinacy as a reason for G-d to maintain his presence among them? What is the meaning of Moses’ “because” – “may my Lord go among us, because it is a stiff-necked people”? There are many interpretations and different readings of this verse, but Rabbi Sacks brings forth an explanation from Rabbi Yitzchak Nussbaum. The argument he attributed to Moses was this: Almighty G-d, look upon this people with favour, because what is now their greatest vice will one day be their most heroic virtue. They are indeed an obstinate people. When they have everything to thank You for, they complain. Mere weeks after hearing Your voice they make a golden calf. But just as now they are stiff-necked in their disobedience, so one day they will be equally stiff-necked in their loyalty. Nations will call on them to assimilate, but they will refuse. Mightier religions will urge them to convert, but they will resist. They will suffer humiliation, persecution, even torture and death because of the name they bear and the faith they profess, but they will stay true to the covenant their ancestors made with You. They will go to their deaths saying Ani maamin, “I believe”. This is a people awesome in its obstinacy – and though now it is their failing, there will be times far into the future when it will be their noblest strength.
The fact that Rabbi Nissenbaum lived and died in the Warsaw ghetto gives added poignancy to his words.
“Forgive them because they are a stiff-necked people” said Moses, because the time will come when that stubbornness will be not a tragic failing but a noble and defiant loyalty. And so it came to be.
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
Feb 4, 2016 | Torat Devorah
“If a man shall steal an ox or a sheep or a goat, and slaughter it or sell it, he shall pay five oxen in place of the ox, and four sheep in place of the sheep.” (21:37)
Sometimes we subconsciously cause ourselves deep self-inflicted emotional wounds. Ironically, however, exactly what we think is the cure for our unhappiness can actually be the cause of our malaise. In this week’s Torah portion there is a law that on the surface is very puzzling. Someone who steals an ox has to pay back five oxen, but someone who steals a sheep has to pay back four sheep. Our Sages teach us that The Torah has concern even for the self-respect of a thief. Stealing a sheep requires the thief to carry the animal across his shoulders, which is most undignified, and so if he is caught, he only to pay only four sheep, whereas stealing an ox only requires the thief to lead the animal by a rope, which isn’t embarrassing, and so the greater penalty for stealing an ox is five oxen.
So, in reality, a sheep-stealer should also pay back five sheep, but seeing as he has already suffered severe humiliation, the Torah considers that he has already paid part of his penalty. It must be then that his humiliation is not something abstract, but it is so great as to be quantifiable in money. This is rather strange. Because were we to approach the thief at the scene of the crime and suggest to him that he must be experiencing the most terrible humiliation and emotional angst, he would almost certainly reply: “You must be joking! I’m getting away with a sheep! You know what this is worth?!” And yet the Torah, which sees to the very deepest levels of a person’s psyche, tells us that the thief is in point of fact suffering great humiliation, equivalent to the payment of money — otherwise how could his penalty have been thus reduced?
In the book Chiddushei HaLev, it s explained: The fact of the matter is that at the moment of the theft, the theft does feel a tremendous depression and sense of disgrace. He feels cheap. He experiences emotional trauma. And yet he has no idea why he should feel this way. And thus he carries on stealing and stealing and causes himself more and more emotional angst, thinking that another ‘job’ will get him out of his emotional slump. And so the vicious circle spirals down and down. Only by observing the Torah can one be truly happy in this world, because only the Designer understands the true nature of His creations, and only He knows what makes one happy and sad. Only G-d knows which actions a person should stay away from and which he should embrace to live a rich, happy and fulfilled life.
“And on the seventh day you shall rest, in order that your ox and your donkey should rest.” (23:12) Shabbat is the most distant whisper of the World-to-Come, a glimpse into a world beyond time and space that we connect to by refraining from actions that connect us to time and space. G-d gave the Jewish People an awesome power: the ability to infuse the physical world with the spiritual; to elevate the physical world so that it speaks the language of the soul. Why is it important that “my ox and my donkey” should rest on Shabbat? Are they going to go to shul as well? Wasn’t Shabbat given to man and man alone? Rabbi Avraham Moderchai Gur comments: ‘The Torah is telling us here that our Shabbat rest should be such that it creates ripples of spiritual energy that elevate the entire world and felt even by the animals. The Midrash describes how one of our Sages sold an ox to a non-Jew and it refused to work for its new owner on Shabbat because resting on Shabbat had become second-nature to it.When we keep the mitzvot properly — and especially Shabbat — the whole world feels the difference.’
Prepared by Devorah Abenhaim
